


Rear Window

by whichclothes



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-23
Updated: 2010-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-09 02:53:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichclothes/pseuds/whichclothes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reworking of Hitchcock's Rear Window, for the <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/ultimate_xander/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://community.livejournal.com/ultimate_xander/"><b>ultimate_xander</b></a>Movie Challenge. Post-Chosen and post-NFA. Xander's leg's broken and Spike plays nurse. But there's something fishy going on at the neighbor's place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fabulous poster by [](http://emilygoober.livejournal.com/profile)[**emilygoober**](http://emilygoober.livejournal.com/) 

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[rear window](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/rear%20window), [spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander)  
  
---|---  
  
_**Rear Window, Chapter 1**_  
**Title:** Rear Window   
**Chapter:** 1 of 5   
**Pairing: **Spike/Xander   
**Rating: **R   
**Warnings:** m/m, language   
**Disclaimer:** I'm neither Joss Whedon nor Alfred Hitchcock.   
**Summary: **Reworking of Hitchcock's Rear Window, for the [](http://community.livejournal.com/ultimate_xander/profile)[**ultimate_xander**](http://community.livejournal.com/ultimate_xander/)Movie Challenge. Post-Chosen and post-NFA. Xander's leg's broken and Spike plays nurse. But there's something fishy going on at the neighbor's place.   
**Author's Note:** Fabulous poster by [](http://emilygoober.livejournal.com/profile)[**emilygoober**](http://emilygoober.livejournal.com/)   
It's just barely June 1 where I am, but I'm anxious to post and won't have time in the morning. I put up a poll, and the majority of voters preferred all 5 chapters at once. So here they are. Follow the links at the end of each chapter, or [click here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Rear+Window&filter=all) for all chapters. Feedback is extremely well appreciated!

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0001zbyy/)  
---  
  
**Chapter One**

 

“This is incredibly stupid,” he announced.

“No. Tripping over your own foot and busting up your leg—_that’s_ incredibly stupid.”

“It was the curb,” he muttered, sulking.

“Whatever,” she said brightly, and shoved an orange pillow behind his back. “All I know is you survived twenty-two years on a Hellmouth, another six years collecting slayers, and then you’re walking down the street in San Francisco in broad daylight and _boom_! Down you go.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sorry to disappoint you and not get eaten by a Kleynach or something.” He knew his voice was sour, but he couldn’t stop it. Helpless, one-eyed and one-legged was not a happy place for him. She handed him a cold can of Coke and he relaxed a little. At least he had Buffy here to take care of him.

“So, I have to go,” she said, not meeting his eye.

“Go? Go where? Who said there’d be going?”

She sighed heavily. “Xander. I only came here to get you settled. You know that.” She was talking to him like he was five years old, and that made him want to throw a tantrum. “I have to get back to England. There are, like, five dozen girls there, and you know Giles is gonna have a heart attack if he has to deal with them all alone, and Willow’s all busy this month with that coven thingy in Thailand—or is it Taiwan? I forget—so I have to be there.”

“Fine. Then I’ll go with you.”

“Sure you will. And risk losing that leg altogether. That’s a great idea, Xan.”

“But…but how am I supposed to manage for six weeks?” He was whining now, damn it.

“Well, you’ll be pretty comfy in this apartment, won’t you?”

It was a nice place, actually. A lot nicer than the room he occasionally occupied in Bath, when he had a little down-time, and even nicer than the countless cookie-cutter hotel rooms where he actually spent most of his nights. It was at the edge of the Castro, on the second floor of an old house. It was bright and airy, with two large bedrooms and a big living/dining room and a small kitchen area he’d never use even if he could walk. It was probably really expensive, but the Council was paying for it. And well they should, because he was here on their business when he got hurt. The only downside was the lack of elevator; the stairs effectively kept him imprisoned in his wheelchair. Maybe that had been intentional, because Buffy didn’t want him wheeling pathetically around the city, waiting to heal, and potentially becoming an easy target for every demon in Northern California. Plus, he wasn’t supposed to jostle his hip and leg, which were currently held together with tens of thousands of dollars worth of titanium and plastic, and a whole lot of prayers to whichever gods would listen.

“The apartment’s fine, Buff. But I can’t even take a dump on my own, and—“

“Eww. TMI, Xan. Anyway, you’re not gonna be here by yourself.”

“Oh?”

Once again, she refused to look straight at him. “We’ve, uh, found someone to help take care of you.”

“A really hot blonde in a tight little nurse’s outfit?” he asked, not really even hoping.

“Well…a blond.” She turned and looked out the window, which overlooked the small garden in the back of the house. She was curling her hair around one finger and he knew he wasn’t going to be happy with what she had to tell him. “And he’s hot, and his clothes are usually pretty tight….” She trailed off.

“Buffy?”

She spun and put her hands on her hips. She was glaring at him. “All right. It’s Spike, okay?”

His mouth gaped open and shut, like a fish’s. He’d forgotten how to speak. Maybe he’d heard wrong. Yeah, that must be it.

“What?” he finally managed.

“Spike.”

“Spike the vampire?”

“You know any other Spikes?”

“But…but…he’s dead. I mean, really dead. Ashes.”

She sighed and collapsed onto a yellow footstool. “No. He’s not.”

“But…but...but….”

“He sorta got resurrected. In LA, with Angel. And then I guess they had this whole big apocalypse thing, some sort of battle with dragons and, um, I don’t know. Giles told me, like, a year ago.”

He spent a moment trying to wrap his mind around that. He decided it wasn’t too hard. After all, Buffy’d died twice herself, and here she was, large as life and gazing wistfully at her new red Manolos. “I still don’t understand—“

“Yeah. I was getting to that. So Spike and Angel are still down in LA, killing bad guys. Sometimes Giles and Angel swap info, I guess.”

“Have you been…talking to Angel?”

The corners of her mouth turned down. “No,” she said softly. “That’s…done. I mean, I have Paul, and I guess he’s sort of…seeing someone.”

Xander swallowed a grunt of satisfaction. He hadn’t spent much time with Paul, and he had the impression that the guy was pretty boring. But he was a doctor, and he clearly adored Buffy, and he was absolutely not a member of the undead nation.

“So, anyway, we needed somebody to help you. Somebody who could scare off any demons that come prowling around, and who had six weeks free. So….”

“But Spike _is_ a demon, remember?”

She shrugged. “But he has a soul, Xan. And he’s been fighting for good for a while now. He almost went poof in that dragon thingy, I hear. Got himself torn to shreds.”

Xander crossed his arms. “Fine. He’s a beacon of goodness and light. But he’s still _Spike_, the bleached wonder. Not a nurse.”

She stood. “Look, he’s what we could find. And he knows he’d better take good care of you or I’ll come here and kick his ass, right?”

Xander just scowled.

She looked at her watch. “I gotta go catch my flight. He’ll be here a couple hours after sunset. You need anything before I go?”

He shook his head miserably. Obviously, this was a done deal, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it. So she dropped a kiss on his cheek, and hugged him too hard, and reminded him that his cell phone was within reach. Then she was gone.

 

Hours later, as Xander flipped fitfully between a Warriors game and _National Lampoon’s Vacation_, there was a loud knock on the door.

“It’s unlocked,” he called. It was hard for him to reach the deadbolt from his chair.

The door opened and there was Spike, exactly as he was the last time Xander had seen him, even his duster intact for Chrissakes, and how the hell did that happen? They stared at each other silently for a minute.

“Gonna invite me in? Or should I just toddle back to LA?”

For a second, Xander considered refusing to allow him to enter. But then what? So he sighed and said, “C’mon in, Spike.”

The vampire sauntered in, his boots sounding loudly on the wooden floor. He was carrying a small, black leather valise, which he dropped unceremoniously near the door. He shut and locked the door behind him, and then spent a few minutes clomping around the place, peering into the bedrooms and closets, opening kitchen cupboards, rooting around in the fridge. Finally, he hoisted himself onto the kitchen counter and stared at Xander, kicking his heels lightly against the cabinet.

“Make yourself at home,” Xander said.

Spike smirked at him. “I expect this _is_ my home, at least until we get you sorted, innit?”

Xander frowned and pretended to watch tv.

“Is it true you crippled yourself just walking?” Spike asked cheerily.

“I tripped on the curb,” Xander growled. “And fell into the street and got hit by a fucking SUV, okay? So go ahead and yuck it up, Xander Harris screwed up again, ha ha ha.”

“Wasn’t laughing, mate. Just wondering.”

Xander didn’t say anything. After a while, Spike got down off of the counter and went back to the fridge. He shoved things around and then made a small noise of triumph, pulling out a plastic bag of red fluid. He found a mug in the cupboard, poured some blood into it, and hummed softly to himself while the microwave whirred. Then he removed the mug and took a long swallow.

“Brilliant!” he said, licking his lips. “Slayer found me some human. Sick of that animal shite the pouf has.”

He brought the cup with him into the living room, and he sank gracefully onto the cream-colored sofa. He slurped noisily and laughed at Chevy Chase.

Finally, Xander couldn’t stand it any more. He pivoted his chair around until he was facing the vampire. “Spike, what are you doing here?”

Spike looked surprised. “Being your minder, yeah? Slayer asked me to.”

“But why? Why were you willing to come here and take care of me?”

Something shifted in those blue eyes, and Spike looked away and then back. “She promised me all the blood I want, and no getting myself banged up every night battling demons. Besides, it was an excuse to get away from Peaches for a time.”

“What are you doing with Angel, anyway?”

There was the subtle shift again, then Spike shrugged. “Dunno. It’s as good a place as any, I expect. He has this bloody great hotel, all to himself. The top floor’s all mine. He calls me when there’s something to kill, we earn enough dosh for my fags and liquor. It’s good enough. What were you doing here?”

Xander let his head fall back a little against the back of the wheelchair. “Recruiting a potential. Mean little cholita who even now, I fervently hope, is driving Giles crazy back in England.”

“That’s what you do? Gather up the slayer wannabes and send them on their way?”

“Yep.”

“Doesn’t sound too bad.”

Xander laughed harshly. “Yeah, well, sometimes the girls or the adult-types around them aren’t too keen on the idea. Or they’re living somewhere distinctly unfriendly to nosy foreigners.” He pulled up his flannel pajama top, revealing a long scar just under his ribcage. The kind of scar a machete might make. “Or there are demons around who aren’t very pleased about the whole business.” Now he yanked his left sleeve and waved his arm in Spike’s direction so Spike could see the ladder of stitches scars that traversed most of the underside of his forearm.

Spike looked…impressed, actually. “Maybe you need a holiday,” he said.

“I got one. Six weeks in beautiful San Francisco, stuck in a chair.”

“Why haven’t you left that lot? Found a life beyond the Scoobies? Little missus, two point five, picket fence, all that.”

“I don’t know.” He grinned. “It pays for my DVD rentals and beer. It’s good enough.”

He didn’t tell Spike that he’d actually tried something else, for a little while. For several months after Sunnydale collapsed he’d done some construction work here and there. But he couldn’t connect with any of his co-workers, or anyone else for that matter. They’d start asking questions about what happened to his eye, or where his family was, or what his life had been like before, and he dodged so many potholes there was almost nothing left to say. He and the others would be left sitting politely and awkwardly over their lunches, them knowing nothing about him. So he’d gone back to Buffy and the rest, where the work was dangerous but at least he didn’t have to pretend monsters only existed in movies, or that his best friend hadn’t been killed by vampires and his former fiancée wasn’t a retired vengeance demon who was felled by a Bringer.

But Spike was looking at him, his head slightly tilted, as if he could read Xander’s scattered thoughts. Suddenly, Xander was exhausted.

“Okay. If you’re really going to play nurse, it’s time to tuck me in.”

Spike put down the empty cup and stood. “All right, then. What do you need me to do?”

At Xander’s direction, Spike wheeled him into the bathroom. Spike slouched in the doorway, inspecting his fingernails, as Xander pissed into a plastic funnel thing and then poured the urine into the toilet. He handed Xander his toothbrush and toothpaste, and then a cup of water and a plastic basin so Xander could rinse and spit. Then he took him into one of the bedrooms, easily lifted him out of the chair, and settled him in the bed. He even pulled the sheets and the navy blanket up over him. As he did, Xander got a good whiff of his leather and whiskey and smoke smell, and was surprised to discover that he liked it. It smelled like home.

 

They quickly fell into a routine that Xander found oddly comforting. Xander slept until early afternoon, then called for Spike. Spike stumbled into the bedroom, his eyes bleary and his hair in an amusing disarray, and helped Xander with the toilet and hygiene essentials. Then he plunked him in the wheelchair and Xander rolled out in front of the tv. Spike brought him some cereal and milk, and then went back to bed for a couple hours. When he woke, he showered, then fed, then brought Xander a sandwich or nuked him a frozen dinner. Then he took Xander back to his bedroom, where he gave him a sponge bath. Xander had expected that to be uncomfortable, but it wasn’t. Spike’s hands were clinical and assured. “Where’d you learn to do this?” he’d asked the first time.

“Dru,” Spike answered shortly.

After the bath, Spike helped him into a fresh set of jammies and set him back in front of the tv. He’d leave then, making sure to take his own cell phone so Xander could reach him if he needed to, and he’d come back an hour or two later with groceries and DVDs and, on the second day, a Playstation and some games. Every other day, there was a knock at the door, and an odd-looking guy whom Xander was pretty sure was some kind of demon would hand over a plastic sack full of blood packets. Hospital rejects, Spike claimed.

They’d pass the rest of the evening squabbling pleasantly over the remote or competing against each other in video games, before Spike finally helped Xander back into bed.

Truth was, Xander was already bored silly. He figured Spike must be in even worse shape. But the vampire didn’t complain, so neither did Xander, and sometimes, for a few minutes at a time, he actually found himself enjoying Spike’s company. That was so weird that he wondered whether someone had cast a spell on him or something.

It was on the fifth or sixth day that Xander noticed something even stranger. He hadn’t yet seen Spike naked. Not that he wanted to or anything. Well, okay, maybe a little bit. He was mature enough to admit that now. But the two other times he’d shared a living space with Spike, the vampire had paraded around in his birthday suit a lot. He wasn’t exactly a modest demon. Not that he had anything to be ashamed of, with his muscular abs, and his trim waist, and his—Anyway, there’d been a lot of skin. But now, he was fully dressed even when he appeared at Xander’s bedside still yawning, and even when he traipsed between the bathroom and his bedroom with his hair still damp and ungelled.

So as Spike was helping him into the wheelchair that afternoon, Xander asked, “Are you sleeping in your clothing?”

Spike frowned at him. “That offending your delicate sensibilities, Harris?”

“No.” Xander pushed his way toward the bathroom. “Just curious.”

Spike didn’t say anything else as he helped Xander dress and eat, and didn’t even mumble a word as he stomped off for his few extra hours of sleep.

But when he came out of his room a while later, he was completely bare, and Xander gasped.

“Happy?” Spike asked, his face set in a scowl. “Got your jollies now?”

“Jesus. What happened?”

Spike’s torso and upper legs were a mass of ugly scars. The flesh that had once been so pale and perfect was now marred with lines and furrows and snarls. It looked like someone had taken a chainsaw to him. One of the nastier wounds was so low on his belly that Xander figured he was lucky he hadn’t been castrated.

“Got in a fight,” Spike said, his voice low, his eyes hard and glittering.

“I thought…I thought vampires healed.”

Spike lifted one brow, the one with the marks on it. “Apparently, sometimes we scar.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and hunched his body inward a little, and Xander realized with a start that Spike was embarrassed. Ashamed, even.

“Must have been a hell of a scrap,” Xander said, taking care to keep his gaze even.

“It was.”

“Will you tell me about it?”

Spike blinked at him for a moment, and then visibly relaxed. “Might do,” he said softly. “After I bathe. And you can tell me how you got a bullet in your arse.”

Ah, Xander thought. Afghanistan. He’d almost forgotten about that one.

When Spike came out of the shower this time, he was nude. He shot a grin at Xander before heading into his room, and emerged a few minutes later, once again dressed.

As he tended to Xander, and then after, as they sat in the living room, he talked about Angel, and an evil law firm he’d somehow managed to take over, and a battle with hundreds of vicious demons. Their colleagues had died. Some guy Spike called Charlie Boy. Another he called Percy, but whom Xander eventually realized with a start was Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, the former Watcher. Spike had been ravaged by claws and swords and horns, and was buried underneath a pile of demon bodies, unconscious, when a former god named Illyria had somehow been imbued with some of her original powers—Spike attributed this to something called the Powers That Be—and nearly wiped their enemies out before being destroyed herself. Angel had been hurt, too, and had staggered off, leaving Spike for dust. And the only thing that stopped him from actually becoming dust when the sun rose was the stack of corpses atop him.

Finally, when the sun set again, Spike managed to struggle free, and he crawled away. He didn’t go into detail, but Xander gathered that it took considerable pain and difficulty for him to make his way to safety, where Angel found him and poured blood into him.

It had taken him weeks to fully recover, he said, and the wounds never completely went away.

It was a grim story, but Xander noticed that the more Spike told, the less tense he grew, until he was slumped against the couch cushions, more at ease than Xander had seen him since he regained his soul. And when he finished, and Xander related some of his own adventures—the angry father in Kabul, the jealous boyfriend in Brasilia, the hostile potential in Maputo, the murderous T’laknar demons in Karlovy Vary—Spike actually laughed, open and genuine guffaws. And Xander laughed, too, and that felt really, really good.

“I never told anybody this stuff before,” he said, wiping tears of mirth from his eye. “I don’t think anybody wanted to hear it.”

Spike nodded. “Haven’t spoken about that skirmish before, either. Peaches won’t discuss it.”

And they looked at each other, sharing a moment of understanding. Of…friendship.

[Chapter Two](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/44868.html)


	2. Rear Window

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reworking of Hitchcock's Rear Window, for the [](http://community.livejournal.com/ultimate_xander/profile)[**ultimate_xander**](http://community.livejournal.com/ultimate_xander/)Movie Challenge. Post-Chosen and post-NFA. Xander's leg's broken and Spike plays nurse. But there's something fishy going on at the neighbor's place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fabulous poster by [](http://emilygoober.livejournal.com/profile)[**emilygoober**](http://emilygoober.livejournal.com/)

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[rear window](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/rear%20window), [spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander)  
  
---|---  
  
_**Rear Window, Chapter 2**_  
**Title:** Rear Window   
**Chapter:** 2 of 5   
**Pairing: **Spike/Xander   
**Rating: **R   
**Warnings:** m/m, language   
**Disclaimer:** I'm neither Joss Whedon nor Alfred Hitchcock.   
**Summary: **Reworking of Hitchcock's Rear Window, for the [](http://community.livejournal.com/ultimate_xander/profile)[**ultimate_xander**](http://community.livejournal.com/ultimate_xander/)Movie Challenge. Post-Chosen and post-NFA. Xander's leg's broken and Spike plays nurse. But there's something fishy going on at the neighbor's place.   
**Author's Note:** Fabulous poster by [](http://emilygoober.livejournal.com/profile)[**emilygoober**](http://emilygoober.livejournal.com/)  
It's just barely June 1 where I am, but I'm anxious to post and won't have time in the morning. I put up a poll, and the majority of voters preferred all 5 chapters at once. So here they are. Follow the links at the end of each chapter, or [click here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Rear+Window&filter=all) for all chapters. Feedback is extremely well appreciated!

 

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0001zbyy/)  
---  
  
**  
Chapter Two**

 

He was going batshit.

It had been just over a week—five more fucking weeks to go—and he was incredibly sick and tired of this apartment, and of everything in it, and of the crap on television. He was sick of playing video games and he was really, especially freaking sick of sitting.

And underneath his cast, his leg itched.

Spike was trying to keep him entertained. Trying heroically, really. He had bought the entire series of _Babylon-5_ and _Firefly_ on DVD, and didn’t bitch too much when Xander actually watched them. He brought in takeout from around the city, and this city did have an amazing array of cuisines. One evening he dumped a pile of porn magazines in Xander’s lap. To Xander’s bemused look, he responded, “Can still wank, can’t you?”

Xander was even more bewildered when he saw the selection of titles Spike had brought him: _Penthouse_ and _Hustler_, sure, but also _Juggs_ and _Muff_ and _Cruella_, and then _All-Man_ and _Bear_ and _Blueboy_. Xander looked up from the stack of glossy paper and raised his eyebrows.

Spike shrugged and smirked. “Wasn’t certain what you fancied. I got you a bit of each.”

“Uh, thanks.”

But despite Spike’s efforts, Xander was still bored. It was especially bad early in the day, when Spike was still asleep, and there was really nothing on tv at all, and Xander could just barely make out the sounds of traffic and voices and life going on beyond these four walls. He’d already talked with Buffy or Willow or Dawn by then—the girls seemed to have some system in place for alternating their phone calls to him—and he couldn’t stand another round of solitaire. So he’d just sit in front of the window and stare blankly outside, hoping for some real excitement. Like a pigeon flapping down to land on the neighbor’s second-floor balcony.

Glumly, he realized that Spike had become the center of his tiny universe and the only bright spot in his pathetic little life. Not only that. But now, when Spike arrived at his bedside, sleepy-eyed and nude, to lift him into the goddamn chair, Xander enjoyed the brief contact with his cool, marred skin. And when Spike walked from bedroom to bathroom and back again, Xander had caught himself staring at his shapely, bare backside. Not that there was anything wrong with silent appreciation, but sooner or later, Spike was going to notice.

Xander was thinking these altogether discomfiting thoughts when a flash of movement caught his eyes. He squinted at the house behind his. Usually, the curtains there were all drawn shut, but now he saw that one of them was open slightly, in a crooked sort of way, as if it had caught on something inside. As he watched, something moved past the narrow opening, something quick. A moment later, it rushed by again. It could have been anything—a child running, maybe, or an object being thrown. But for some inexplicable reason, there was something odd about it.

He watched a while longer. At one point, the drapes moved a little, as if someone had brushed up against them, but that was it. And then he heard stirring noises from inside Spike’s room and he closed his own blinds so the last of the day’s sun wouldn’t sneak in and fry his nurse.

 

Later that night, Spike went out to stock up on food and beer. Xander gave him specific directions to pick up some Doritos and Coors, and Spike muttered something dark under his breath before sweeping out the door in a swirl of black leather.

Xander rolled over to open the blinds again and the window. It was an unusually balmy evening and some fresh air would be nice. As he looked outside, though, he saw an odd glow coming from the window across the way. It wasn’t the yellowish white of a lightbulb, or the bluish flicker of a television. This was the deep purple of a really bad bruise, and it was pulsing slowly on and off, almost at the same rate as his heart was beating. It continued like that for a little while—probably twenty minutes or so—and then abruptly flickered out.

Spike burst in the door not too much later. He was carrying two large paper sacks, which he set on the kitchen counter. He pulled out a bag and tossed it across to Xander, who tore it open happily. Mmm. Nacho cheesey goodness. His hands were already bright orange by the time Spike ambled over with an open bottle in each hand.

“That doesn’t look like Coors,” Xander said.

Spike handed him one.

“_Fuller’s ESB_,” Xander read. “Never heard of it.”

“I used to drink it now and then when I was a whelp. I’d nip away from my mum and head to the pub for it, feeling very daring.” His smile was self-mocking and a little sweet, Xander thought.

Xander took a sip from the brown bottle. Then another. “This is good!”

Spike’s grin grew broader. “See? Loads better than that shite you wanted.” He downed a big swig from his own bottle and then went off to the kitchen, presumably to fix Xander a slightly more substantive dinner.

Xander was floored. Spike didn’t really have to get him any treats at all. But here he’d gone and made an effort, clearly for Xander’s benefit. Xander wondered why. Had Buffy threatened or bribed him into being extra-nice?

Dinner tonight turned out to be Vietnamese banh mi, crunchy and spicy and meaty and chewy all at once. Spike had one, too. Oddly, the sandwiches paired perfectly with the Doritos and the ale in some kind multicultural tastebud harmony, and Xander was soon licking his fingers and moaning with gustatory delight. “For a guy who’s been chowing down on A-pos for a century, you’ve got some seriously good taste in cuisine,” he said, and Spike actually beamed at the compliment.

When there was nothing left but wrappers and empty bottles, Spike got up for a minute, and then reappeared with a pink box. He opened it like a magician to reveal a dozen assorted donuts and Xander could only gape at him.

When Spike shoved the box nearly in his lap, though, he grabbed a Boston cream and took a huge bite. “All right,” he said with a full mouth. “I give up. What’s the catch? Are you trying to lure me into a food coma so you can drain me at your leisure?”

“Nah. You’re just so much more pleasant when your gob’s too full for you to babble.”

Spike patted his shoulder and started cleaning up the mess.

 

Two days later, Xander was surprised out of a reverie when the window opposite him opened and someone stepped out onto the balcony. It was very bright outside and the blinds were mostly drawn inside his own dark living room, so, although the guy looked furtively around for a moment, Xander doubted that the guy could see him.

The guy was dressed…strangely. He had on a pair of flowing, scarlet pants that hung low on his skinny frame and looked a lot like silk pajamas. His sleeveless shirt matched, but it had some sort of intricate yellow embroidery all over it. Xander couldn’t make out the details. Although the man’s face was pretty young—thirtyish, maybe—his long, stringy hair was as white as Santa’s beard. It flowed loosely behind him, a stark contrast against the red of his clothing. His feet were bare, but he had a huge gold chain around his neck, with an enormous pendant hanging from it.

The man had a metal bucket. As Xander watched, he tipped it over the side of the balcony, releasing a gush of foul-looking liquid. When the bucket was empty, he looked up, and Xander nearly fell out of his chair. Even as far away as he was, he could see that the guy’s eyes were two huge, black smudges, and his face was paler than Spike’s and etched with pitch-dark veins.

He’d seen that look before.

He was going to yell for Spike to wake up and come look, but then the spooky man ducked back inside his house. What was he going to tell his roommate, anyway? “Hey, our neighbor stole Willow’s look, circa 2002?”

Fuck.

 

He almost forgot about the strange man when Spike woke up anyway. First there was the naked parade to and from the shower, which was always diverting. Then there was watching Spike’s long, delicate throat work as he swallowed his breakfast, and that turned out to be fascinating, too.

Then it was bathtime. Spike placed Xander on his bed, and Xander pulled off his gray t-shirt. Then Xander lay back, and Spike smoothly removed his sweatpants and boxers. He had a whole wardrobe full of sweats like this now: one leg cut off slightly crookedly at the upper thigh to accommodate his cast.

Spike had been doing this every night, and somehow being naked and handled by those cool, deft hands hadn’t been a big deal. Until tonight. Tonight he gritted his teeth and stared fixedly at the ceiling as Spike ran a warm, damp cloth over his face and arms and chest. He thought fiercely about Principal Snyder and the She-Mantis and Chumash curses as the towel swiped over his stomach. But it didn’t help, and he felt all the blood in his body rush either to his cheeks or his groin, and Spike was frozen with the washcloth in his hand, his mouth open in surprise.

“Oh, God,” Xander groaned, and closed his eye, and wished his mattress was actually some sort of large man-eating demon that would swallow him whole this instant.

“Erm, Xander? You know, the magazines…that was just a joke. Just taking the piss, you know.”

“Well, see what you’ve done? You play a joke and now you’ve turned me all gay. It’s your fault. I’m gonna tell Buffy.”

“Xander?”

Xander opened his eye again and was chagrined to discover that his erection didn’t flag one single bit at Spike’s inspection. In fact, it actually perked up a little more, like it was showing off. He sighed.

“I’m sorry, Spike. It’s just…it’s been a while. I mean a long while. I mean, that towel was about to go where pretty much no one has gone before, at least in, like, a year. Except you, of course, when you gave me the other baths. And, um, me.” Clearly his blush and his hard-on had used up every red cell in his body, leaving nothing for his brain to work with.

Spike wasn’t smirking, though, and didn’t look angry or offended. Just kind of flabbergasted.

“Do you fancy blokes?”

“Um, yeah. I’ve fancied a bloke now and then.”

“Since when?”

“Since forever, but I didn’t admit it to myself until a couple years ago.”

“And birds?”

“Oh, I fancy them, too. I fancy them plenty. Just, um, not very often. Or recently. I mean, there’s been plenty of fancying, just not much, uh, actual contact.”

Spike was still holding the washcloth in mid-air. “Why not?” he asked. “You’re pretty enough. Should think you’d have plenty of girls hanging about.”

Xander tried to ignore the way his cock had twitched when Spike called him pretty. “I do have plenty of girls hanging around. But they’re slayers. And I’ve been there once—that was enough.”

Spike nodded gravely. Well, he’d experienced a slayer himself, hadn’t he?

“You can’t find any other girls?”

“I can find them all right. But either they want to know about the eye and the scars, and I can’t really tell them, can I? Or I can tell them, because then they turn out to be all demony and they want to lay their eggs in me or something. So, no. No girls.”

“Boys?”

“Same problem, only without the eggs.”

And despite humiliation so deep he was practically drowning in it, he was still hard.

“Look, Spike, I’m sorry. I really am. I’ll call Buffy and tell her it’s all my fault, okay? And she can find me someone else, and—“

“No.”

Xander blinked at him.

“It’s not a problem, berk. It was just…unexpected. Doesn’t bother me. I’ve seen a knob before, you know.”

“Have you?” Xander meant it lightly, hoping to take some of the focus off of himself, but an odd look flashed across the vampire’s face.

Xander propped himself awkwardly up on his elbows. “_Have_ you, Spike?”

Everybody knows vampires can’t blush. No blood circulation, can’t happen. Except Xander was pretty damn sure a little tinge of pink appeared on those sculpted cheekbones. Spike sat down next to him and picked at the loops of terry cloth in the towel.

“Erm, yeah,” he mumbled.

“Really?! Anybody I—“

“Peaches,” Spike said flatly. “Captain Forehead, all right? Once, before your grandmum was born. Only that was Angelus, right? And more recently, we’ve been alone in that bloody hotel of his, and….”

“Oh, my God. You’re the one. You’re the someone he’s ‘sort of seeing!’”

Spike sighed theatrically. “Yeah. I expect so. No danger of _me_ making him too happy, is there?”

“Does Buffy know?”

“No! God, no. It’s not.… It’s just shagging. He’s my grandsire, and vampires, we, well, it’s what we do, yeah?”

“Gay incest is what vampires do?”

“Yeah. The pouf and I, we can’t bite anybody, or hold court with scurrying minions, or any of that rot, can we? And you think you have it bad trying to find someone! At least you’re still alive. But the souls don’t mix well with most vamps, and most humans aren’t all that keen to get a leg over with a corpse. Not to mention the new decorations I’m sporting—not much of an attraction there.” He waved at his torso and slumped over himself slightly.

With considerable difficulty, Xander heaved himself into a sitting position and slid next to Spike, his cast sticking out between them.

“I understand,” Xander said softly. “You and Angel—well, still ick, because Angel, I mean he’s pretty hot and all, but he’s Angel, and can I say _eww_? But you. You’re—you’re beautiful. Still. Obviously,” he said, and glanced meaningfully at his own crotch, where his stupid penis remained stubbornly rigid.

Spike turned his head and gave him that deep, searching look. Then he leaned forward and let the towel drop and captured Xander’s face in his hands. He placed his soft, full lips almost against Xander’s.

“Beautiful?” he whispered.

“Beautiful,” Xander answered.

His face just inches away, Spike vamped out. His brows grew heavy and ridged, his teeth sharpened and lengthened, and his eyes glowed amber and feral. “Beautiful?” he said again.

Xander took a deep breath. He reached out his hand, and gently traced his fingertips across the vampire’s forehead, down his nose, then beneath the jagged edges of his fangs. “Beautiful,” he said firmly.

More quickly than Xander’s eye could track, Spike morphed back and pressed his once-again human mouth against Xander’s.

Most of the kisses Xander had shared had been urgent and quick and sometimes brutal. Even with Anya, they had been demanding, a sort of practice run for what was about to happen below their waists, or maybe a rough accompaniment. This one, though, was slow, and deep, and smooth as a river of lava. It was a kiss for its own sake, and it made Xander’s toes curl and his balls ache with need.

When they finally pulled apart—by mutual accord, it seemed—they were both panting. Spike on the bed next to him, his unnecessary breathing rough, his lips slightly swollen, and his pupils blown wide—it was nearly enough to make Xander come right then and there.

“Xander,” Spike rumbled. “You’re hurt.”

“My leg’s busted. The rest of me is just fine.”

Spike swallowed audibly, and that sent a thrill down Xander’s spine.

“We.… This would be a mistake,” Spike said.

Of course it would. Who’d want the doughnut boy when he had tall, dark, and broody waiting for him at home? Xander took a deep breath and attempted maturity. “Okay,” he nodded.

Spike looked at him a long moment more and then stood. “Shall we finish the bath, then?”

Xander collapsed backward. “Fine.”

And Spike finished cleansing him, carefully avoiding most of the more interesting parts of Xander’s anatomy.

 

[Chapter Three](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/45298.html#cutid1)


	3. Rear Window

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reworking of Hitchcock's Rear Window, for the [](http://community.livejournal.com/ultimate_xander/profile)[**ultimate_xander**](http://community.livejournal.com/ultimate_xander/)Movie Challenge. Post-Chosen and post-NFA. Xander's leg's broken and Spike plays nurse. But there's something fishy going on at the neighbor's place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fabulous poster by [](http://emilygoober.livejournal.com/profile)[**emilygoober**](http://emilygoober.livejournal.com/)

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[rear window](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/rear%20window), [spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander)  
  
---|---  
  
_**Rear Window, Chapter 3**_  
**Title:** Rear Window   
**Chapter:** 3 of 5   
**Pairing: **Spike/Xander   
**Rating: **R   
**Warnings:** m/m, language   
**Disclaimer:** I'm neither Joss Whedon nor Alfred Hitchcock.   
**Summary: **Reworking of Hitchcock's Rear Window, for the [](http://community.livejournal.com/ultimate_xander/profile)[**ultimate_xander**](http://community.livejournal.com/ultimate_xander/)Movie Challenge. Post-Chosen and post-NFA. Xander's leg's broken and Spike plays nurse. But there's something fishy going on at the neighbor's place.   
**Author's Note:** Fabulous poster by [](http://emilygoober.livejournal.com/profile)[**emilygoober**](http://emilygoober.livejournal.com/)  
It's just barely June 1 where I am, but I'm anxious to post and won't have time in the morning. I put up a poll, and the majority of voters preferred all 5 chapters at once. So here they are. Follow the links at the end of each chapter, or [click here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Rear+Window&filter=all) for all chapters. Feedback is extremely well appreciated!

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0001zbyy/)  
---  
  
**  
Chapter Three**

 

They tiptoed carefully around each other after that. Figuratively, of course, because Xander’s toes were out of commission and Spike wasn’t really the toe tipping type. But they talked about things that had nothing to do with sex, and they stole cars on the Playstation, and when they had to touch neither of them noticed that there were two hard cocks in the room with them. Nope. Didn’t notice at all.

Two weeks after their internment in the apartment, Willow was chatting away about Thailand and her new girlfriend, Yenega, who was also a witch, and who, according to Willow, was beautiful and funny and smart and talented and—“Will?”

He heard her finally suck some oxygen into her lungs. “Yeah, Xan?”

“I, um, saw something kinda strange the other day. I was wondering what you think.”

He told her about the glowing light and the man in red, and, as far as he could tell, she listened intently.

“Aren’t you in San Francisco, Xan? Where people sort of tend to be a little, um, eccentric? Maybe even with the wearing red pajamas in the day?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, the day before I broke my leg, I saw a guy wearing a denim skirt, a glittery blouse, and bunny ears. And another wearing nothing but leather chaps and a g-string.”

“See? So the pajamas are practically normal.”

“But Will, this guy had the veins and the eyes, and—“

“Are you sure? You were pretty far away, weren’t you?”

“I was, but my one eye can see perfectly well.”

She paused for a moment. “Uh, Xan? You’re kinda bored now, aren’t you? And kinda lonely?”

“I’m not making this up!”

“No, no, of course not. Look, I’ll do some research, okay? See what I can find out. And you’ll let me know if you see anything more, right?” There was a feminine giggle in the background, and he knew exactly what kind of “research” Willow was going to be doing.

“Fine,” he said, wearily. “Just don’t blame me if the world comes to a fiery and horrible end.”

“’Kay, Xan. Talk to you later. Smoochies!” There was more giggling and she hung up.

Maybe he should call Giles. He could just imagine that conversation—there’d be some tortured sighs and maybe a dear lord or two, and Giles would treat him like a mentally challenged four-year-old. And then he’d promise to do some research, too.

Okay, what about Buffy? She might dismiss him as easily as Willow. Or she might believe him, in which case she’d probably come rushing back to the States, her Slayer hackles all arisen. And if there was trouble across the way, she’d fix it. And then there’d be her and Spike, and either they’d snark so bad that she’d drive him away, or they’d rekindle that—whatever—they had, because Spike was way hotter than Paul, and infinitely more interesting, and Buffy wasn’t fooling anyone by pretending that bad boys weren’t her thing. None of these were happy scenarios.

So he did nothing, except the one thing he could do really well, even with monovision. He watched.

 

The next day, Xander was sitting on the edge of his bed as Spike was washing Xander’s face. Spike moved the towel carefully under the band of Xander’s patch.

“Xander?”

“Hmm?” His eye was closed and he’d been blissfully enjoying the contact. Nobody, _nobody_ had ever taken care of him like this before.

“The elastic’s digging in. Doesn’t it irritate you?”

“I’m used to it.”

“You wear this thing all the time.”

“Uh-huh. Except when I’m asleep.”

“Why?”

“Because the empty socket is really creepy looking.”

“It bothers you.”

Xander shrugged. “Not really. I’m used to it. But it’d bother other people.”

“Can I see?”

“Knock yourself out.”

Spike slipped the patch over Xander’s head. A moment later, Xander felt Spike’s long, cool finger delicately outlining the shadowed emptiness. “If I’d been just a bit faster,” Spike murmured.

Xander opened his remaining eye and saw pure sorrow on Spike’s face. So he grabbed Spike’s hand and reverently placed a kiss on the back of it.

“What was that for?”

“_That_ was for not being just a bit _slower_.”

A slow, pleased smile spread across Spike’s face.

After that, Xander left the patch off.

 

Spike was asleep again a couple days later when the mysterious guy reappeared. He came out on his balcony with the bucket, only this time he was wearing a robe. Not a bathrobe, but a…a wizard’s robe, exactly like every cartoon wizard ever wore. It was long enough to drag on the ground and it was midnight blue with gold trim. The sleeves were wide enough to stash a small child inside. That ugly jewelry was still around his neck, and his face was still traced with black lines.

The guy dumped the bucket again—more viscous, greenish fluid glopped out—and hurried back inside.

Xander peered anxiously out the window at nothing for a long time. He was interrupted by a deep, British voice. “Something fascinating out there, love?”

Xander turned. Spike was standing at the doorway to his room, nude, his curls wild. Xander smiled. “Not as fascinating as what’s in here,” he ventured.

“Cheeky.”

“Says the naked guy.”

“Xander—“

“I know. You, me, mistake. I get it. But you know how I feel and if you don’t want me to look you’ll have to put some clothes on.”

“Looking…looking’s all right. No harm there.”

“Then let there be looking.”

Spike curled his tongue around his teeth and slowly, slowly rotated. His back was marred, too, although not as severely as his front, and his ass was as perfect as ever an ass could be. By the time Spike was facing Xander again, Spike’s pretty cock was half-hard, bouncing slightly in a golden nest of curls.

Xander shifted uncomfortably in his wheelchair. “I guess you like the looking.”

Spike looked down at himself. “I expect I do. Hasn’t been much of it, of late.”

“We can fix that.”

“The scars—they really don’t bother you?”

“They really don’t. I figure they tell a story. You’re a hero, Spike. A champion. They’re a reminder of that.” He meant it, too. Longed to trace every one of those marks with his fingertips, with his tongue.

Spike’s eyes were glittering and he suddenly stomped into the kitchen. “Hungry,” he muttered roughly, and Xander smiled at his back.

Later, freshly showered and now wearing only his black jeans, Spike sat on the couch near him. “What do you keep staring at out there?”

Xander thought for a few minutes, and then came to a decision. “There’s this weird guy across the way. I’m thinking maybe he’s up to something.”

Spike got up and lifted a blind slat to peer outside into the blackness. “Yeah? Like what?”

So Xander told him what he’d seen. To his surprise and delight, Spike didn’t tease him or write off his concerns, but instead listened carefully, frowning in concentration. When Xander finished, Spike disappeared a moment into his room and came back with wearing a t-shirt and boots.

“I’ll be just a mo,” he said, unlocking the door. Xander could hear him clomping down the steps.

A few seconds later, there was a subtle movement outside. Xander peeked, and saw a white-blond head shining in the moonlight, crossing their house’s small yard. Then Spike must have scaled the fence, because he was in the neighbor’s yard, and Xander couldn’t see him at all. Before he could worry, though, there were more noisy footsteps and the door to the apartment swung open. Spike strode in and locked it behind him.

Xander had half-expected him to make a joke, or to call him some British name that meant paranoid idiot. But he didn’t. His face was grave. “Mojo,” he said.

“What?”

“Magic. Dark stuff. Really dark. Couldn’t see anything, but I could smell it all right. Whatever this bloke is up to, it’s not rainbows and sprinkles.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

While Xander thought, Spike came over and collapsed onto the couch.

“Could you tell what he’s doing?”

Spike shook his head. “That shite he dumped on the ground smells of death and corruption. Like…something evil that’s been rotting a long time.”

“Nice.”

“But I don’t know enough about hocus-pocus to know what his plan is. Your witch might know.”

“Yeah. I told her about this guy the other day, but I don’t think she really believed me. She thinks I’m hallucinating because I’m bored or something.”

Spike growled softly. “Those friends of yours never did give you enough credit.”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Xander was distracted by Spike’s response. Spike _growled_ for him. He bit his lip to keep from grinning. Cut it out. Possible impending apocalypse here.

“I’m gonna call Willow and Giles, and let them know what you found. They can’t claim we’re both imagining things.”

“All right. I’ll go poke about a bit more, see what else I can find. I’ll bring you back some dinner, too. Chinese?”

Now Xander couldn’t hide his smile anymore. “You’re Investigating Evil and Bringing Home the Bacon Guy.”

Spike stood and gave a little bow. “At your service.”

 

Xander had no idea what time it was in Thailand, but it was morning in England, so he called Giles.

“Xander. How is your convalescence?”

“Dandy. I’m ready to dance a jig.”

“And your…minder? He’s caring for you well?”

“Spike makes a great nurse, Giles. Was that your idea?”

“No, it was Buffy’s, actually.”

“Oh. Why didn’t you tell me Spike was…um, undead?”

“I didn’t think you’d care. He wasn’t exactly your best mate, was he?”

No, he wasn’t. And honestly, Xander wasn’t sure whether he would have cared. But still, he’d fought beside the guy for a couple of years. Somebody might have at least mentioned his undeath in passing.

“Giles, we have a problem here.”

“Yes?”

Xander told him. Giles _hmm_ed and _tsk_ed and asked for a few more details. When the story was all told, what there was of it, anyway, he said, “Yes, well, it could be nothing at all, but perhaps this bears more investigation. I can’t get away at the moment—we seem to have rather a problem with the latest batch of potentials—but I’ll see if Willow can come when she’s finished in Asia. A week from tomorrow, I believe.”

“Okay.”

“You’ll let me know if you learn anything more?”

“Sure, Giles.”

“And Xander?”

“Yeah?”

“Be careful.”

Xander rolled his eye. “I can’t even get out of the apartment. I think I’m pretty secure.”

Spike came back a short time later with eggrolls and kung pao chicken and Hunan beef, but no new information on the bad guy. “Didn’t see anything amiss,” he said, picking up a chili with his chopsticks and popping it in his mouth whole. “Just looks like an ordinary house, with a Prius in the drive and all the windows dark. Nice pot of geraniums on the porch.”

Xander described his conversation with Giles, and Spike nodded. “Good. Let’s let the Watcher and the witch take care of this. Not much I can do at night anyway.”

Xander thumped his cast in frustration. “If I could escape this place, I could—“

“You’ll do nothing of the sort. You’ll stay right here where you’re safe.”

“Yeah. Because I’m totally useless anyway,” Xander groused.

Spike grabbed his shoulders and looked fiercely at him. “You’re nothing like useless, pillock. You’re better than—“ He took a deep breath. “You’re _important_. But right now you’re also a cripple and I won’t have your mending interfered with. Wait until you can walk again. _Then_ you can throw yourself at the lions.”

Xander gaped wordlessly at the vampire, but then Spike leaned down and captured his mouth in a kiss. Where the other had been tender and soft, this one was fierce and burning and they moaned into each other almost desperately. Xander clasped Spike’s biceps tightly and nearly pulled him into his lap.

Minutes later, Spike stood. “Oh, love,” he said, his voice hoarse and slightly shaky.

“Still a mistake, Spike?”

Spike closed his eyes and sighed, then walked away.

 

[Chapter Four](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/45329.html)


	4. Rear Window

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reworking of Hitchcock's Rear Window, for the [](http://community.livejournal.com/ultimate_xander/profile)[**ultimate_xander**](http://community.livejournal.com/ultimate_xander/)Movie Challenge. Post-Chosen and post-NFA. Xander's leg's broken and Spike plays nurse. But there's something fishy going on at the neighbor's place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fabulous poster by [](http://emilygoober.livejournal.com/profile)[**emilygoober**](http://emilygoober.livejournal.com/)

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[rear window](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/rear%20window), [spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander)  
  
---|---  
  
_**Rear Window, Chapter 4**_  
**Title:** Rear Window   
**Chapter:** 4 of 5   
**Pairing: **Spike/Xander   
**Rating: **R   
**Warnings:** m/m, language   
**Disclaimer:** I'm neither Joss Whedon nor Alfred Hitchcock.   
**Summary: **Reworking of Hitchcock's Rear Window, for the [](http://community.livejournal.com/ultimate_xander/profile)[**ultimate_xander**](http://community.livejournal.com/ultimate_xander/)Movie Challenge. Post-Chosen and post-NFA. Xander's leg's broken and Spike plays nurse. But there's something fishy going on at the neighbor's place.   
**Author's Note:** Fabulous poster by [](http://emilygoober.livejournal.com/profile)[**emilygoober**](http://emilygoober.livejournal.com/)  
It's just barely June 1 where I am, but I'm anxious to post and won't have time in the morning. I put up a poll, and the majority of voters preferred all 5 chapters at once. So here they are. Follow the links at the end of each chapter, or [click here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Rear+Window&filter=all) for all chapters. Feedback is extremely well appreciated!

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0001zbyy/)  
---  
  
**Chapter Four**

 

Four more days of nothing. Spike brought Xander a pair of binoculars, although really in his case a monocular would have done just fine, but he saw nothing but the occasional pigeon. And once a squirrel.

Spike didn’t really have any demon connections this far north, so he asked the blood delivery guy. The guy told him about a couple of bars that were nonhuman-friendly, and Spike visited them. He got in a fight with a Bohg’dar and staked a pair of fledges he spied creeping after someone in an alley, but he didn’t learn anything at all about their wizard.

Then it occurred to them both that the guy must be getting his ingredients from somewhere, so they did a little digging around and found out where the local magic shops were. There were three: one in Bernal Heights, one in the Haight, and the closest was on Valencia in the Mission. Luckily, all three kept nighttime hours, so Spike was able to pay them a visit. But none of the proprietors could help. In fact, Spike said, two of the three seemed genuinely shocked that someone might use their goods maliciously, and the third was so stoned that he kept trying to sell Spike a charm that would make his skin tanner.

Of course, he could have been getting supplies from out of town, and Spike could hardly visit every shop in Northern California. He might even be ordering over the internet.

So they were pretty much stymied, and by now the frustration and sexual tension had knotted Xander into such a tight ball that that it was a wonder he wasn’t bouncing around the room. Spike wasn’t faring much better, and even several rounds of good curry and some killer burritos and a couple six-packs of Corona didn’t help.

 

And then, suddenly, there was something.

It started in the late afternoon as Spike was in the shower. Xander saw the curtains across the way rustle. That was all, but it was the only sign of life he’d seen there for days. When Spike emerged from the bathroom, still dripping slightly, Xander told him.

Spike frowned at the window as if that would give him some answers. “All right, then,” he said finally. “Let’s get you sorted, and then see if anything else happens.” Xander nodded, and Spike wheeled him into his bedroom and set him carefully on the bed.

As Spike stripped off Xander’s clothes, gently and efficiently, Xander couldn’t help but observe that Spike hadn’t bothered to dress himself this time. He didn’t know whether that was a deliberate choice, or whether the vampire had just been too distracted to notice. In any case, as Spike swiped Xander’s chest with a soft, damp cloth, Xander gave into temptation and touched his index finger lightly against the scar that bisected Spike’s navel.

Spike hissed and froze, his face unreadable, as Xander slowly followed the indented line across. “Soft,” Xander breathed, and the skin was, like crushed velvet, but underneath the muscle was hard as steel.

“Xander….” Spike’s voice was choked.

“Shh.” He moved his hand up, following the line of Spike’s sternum, stopping to caress every blemish, every mark, both tiny and large. Spike still didn’t stir, except for his chest, which moved in and out rapidly as he breathed. The room was cool and so Spike was, too, and as Xander flattened his large palm atop the unbeating heart, he could feel his own body heat being slowly stolen.

Spike’s right nipple was scarred, too, and hardened into a pink nub, and Xander rubbed it gently with his thumb. Spike hissed again. His eyes were closed.

Xander’s hand dropped down, down to that horrifying knot of gouges and grooves low on Spike’s belly. He smoothed at it, as if he could retroactively erase the pain. A faint line of hairs led down from there to the still-damp curls, where Xander buried his fingertips.

Spike’s cock was jutting rigidly, the foreskin retracted, the tip glistening a little with precum. Xander wrapped his fist around the shaft.

Spike croaked again, “Xander.” But he didn’t try to move away.

“I know,” Xander said softly. “Mistake. But I’m here, and you’re here, and…. I know I’m not Angel, but—“

“Is that what you think it is?” Spike had opened his eyes, and he placed his own left hand around Xander’s, whether to keep it still or keep it there, Xander didn’t know. “You think I don’t want you because you’re not him?”

“Well….”

Spike sighed and Xander allowed him to gently pry his hand away. Then Spike sat on the bed and reached over to smooth a lock of hair out of Xander’s face.

“It’s not that, pet. The pouf and I…it’s mostly just comfort, yeah? Just…family, and shared grief, and a nice shag now and then. He’s not my Prince Charming, and I’m sodding well not his.”

“Then the mistake’s just…me?”

“Bloody hell, boy! Can’t you get it through that thick loaf? Problem’s not you. You’re…special, you are.”

Xander blinked up at him.

Spike’s voice softened. “You’re extraordinary. I’m…I’m just a demon. You deserve better than me.”

Xander gaped at him and then said, “You think I have a problem with demons? Hello! Almost married one, remember? I’ve hardly dated anyone who wasn’t at least a little demony, actually.”

“But, the things I’ve done….”

“Did you ever put boils on a guy’s dick and turn him into a troll? Or turn a guy into a giant worm demon? Anya did.”

“I tried to…tried to rape Buffy.”

“Yeah. Well, welcome to the club.”

Spike’s eyebrows shot up.

“I was possessed by a hyena spirit.”

“Well, then, that doesn’t—“

“It counts. As much as it counted when a soulless demon did it.”

“And all the people I’ve killed? Thousands, Xander, and I enjoyed every one.”

Xander looked steadily at him. “That was bad. I would’ve happily staked you for it, once. But then…that’s not the you you are now, is it? Okay, a century or so of bloodshed, but lately, for, what? Almost a decade now. You’ve saved me, saved my friends, saved the world. You’ve been here, with me, when nobody else is, and you _listened_. And, and…fuck it. Whatever. I want you, Spike.”

Spike stroked the side of Xander’s face. “Oh, love.”

“It doesn’t have to be a thing. In less than a month this cast comes off, and you can go back to LA, and I’ll round up the next baby slayer.”

“That’s what you want?”

“No. I want…I want you to stay with me. Or me to stay with you. Doesn’t matter. See if…see if we can make it work.” His voice cracked a little, and that might have embarrassed him, except tears were tracking down Spike’s face.

Spike snuffled and swiped his arm across his eyes. “Ponce,” he muttered to himself. He looked at Xander with his eyes blue and glittering. “All right. We can try. I expect we’ll be driving one another mental within two months.”

“Maybe. But I’ve been living with mostly slayers, and you’ve been rooming with Deadboy for a while. I think we can manage to tolerate each other.”

“Can do better than tolerate,” Spike said, and laid his cool palm on Xander’s good hip. “But let’s get your sorcerer sorted first, yeah?”

Xander realized his face was split in a ridiculously wide grin.

Spike finished the bath, then, quickly, with a minimum of naughty touching. He dressed Xander and pushed him to the window, then went to get dressed himself. By the time he came out, Xander had ordered a pizza.

Spike pulled a chair up to the window and they sat side by side, occasionally sneaking glances at each other. It was dark out already and there wasn’t anything to see there, anyway. Every time Xander looked at Spike, the vampire was smiling to himself. Xander was, too. He felt absurdly like a teenager on his first date. If it wasn’t for the leg, they’d probably be feeling each other up in a broom closet.

The pizza arrived, and Xander scarfed several pieces while Spike sipped at his blood. Xander didn’t even make fake gagging noises when Spike snagged a crust and dipped it in his mug. Xander was just about to ask Spike to get him a second bottle of Fuller’s when a purplish light burst so brightly from the neighboring house that Xander momentarily saw stars. Spike jumped to his feet, knocking his chair over.

“Bloody hell!”

The light pulsed on and off, as it had done the first time, but it was more intense this time, and more rapid. Even though their own window was shut, Xander thought he could make out an odd humming sound, like the noise of large electrical lines. Then there was a _whoomp_ and the glass across the yard popped out of its frame in two large pieces, which fell to the balcony with an enormous shatter. Somewhere, a car alarm went off.

At the same time, the curtains billowed outward, and stayed that way, as if there was a powerful wind in the house. They could see inside clearly now, and what they saw was the mystery guy, standing in his stupid blue robe, his hair whipping around his head and his hands raised high. It looked like he was holding a wand. At his feet, something huddled. It was difficult to see clearly, but it looked for all the world like a prone, bloody body.

Spike ran to the door. As he reached for the knob, Xander shouted, “Wait!”

Spike whirled around. “What?”

“What are you gonna do?”

“Find out when I get there.”

“Spike—“

“Call the police, Xander.”

And then he was out the door, slamming it behind him.

Xander wheeled his way over to the table where he’d left his phone. He picked it up, and—Fuck! Battery was dead. He must’ve used the last of the charge when he ordered the goddamn pizza. He threw the phone across the room in frustration.

The only other phone was Spike’s and that one was almost certainly in the vampire’s duster pocket. And the duster was currently on Spike, somewhere between this house and the neighbor’s.

Xander eyed the front doorway. The wheelchair might barely fit, but then what? He had no way to get down the stairs. There wasn’t even anyone around to hear him shout for help—the downstairs apartment was rented by a couple who spent most of their time travelling.

Helplessly, Xander returned to the window. The magician was still standing there, and the purple light was blinking even faster. Then the guy’s head suddenly snapped around, as if his attention had been caught by something. The light abruptly went out, replaced by an ordinary steady white. The drapes, however, had actually blown completely off of their rods, and were now  crumpled across the balcony railing.

The man dropped his hands and walked rapidly away.

For a few minutes, Xander saw nothing but the motionless body on the floor, and the bare, pale cream of the opposite wall.

Then there was a flash of black and—Spike. Spike was standing near the window, looking anxiously in Xander’s direction, and then he was kneeling over the person on the floor.

Xander reached over to open his own window, to call across to his…his friend. His almost-lover.

Suddenly, though, the wizard was there, his robes flowing, his face furious. A trickle of what appeared to be blood ran from his nose. He struck out his arm, and Xander shouted a useless warning to Spike. Spike was thrown out of view. Xander shoved open the window and yelled again.

Spike came into sight again, and now he was vamped out, his eyes sparking yellow fury. He launched himself at the man. But the man simply held out his arm, and a line of green flame ran from it and then engulfed the vampire completely.

Xander screamed.

Spike fell off to the side, still burning horribly, disappearing from Xander’s vision. Xander heard him shrieking.

Then the wizard turned and locked eyes with Xander.

He pointed his wand out the window, and Xander didn’t even have the presence of mind to duck. But the green fire couldn’t quite reach him; it petered out somewhere just his side of the fence.

The man roared in rage and ran away.

Xander shouted Spike’s name, over and over. There was no answer.

And then he realized that the wizard was probably well on his way over to Xander’s place. Tears of anguish and frustration were pouring from his eye, nearly blinding him, as he looked frantically around for a weapon. Anything.

He was making his arduous way to the kitchen when the door burst open.

The wizard stood there, the wand in his upheld hand.

Up close, his face was even paler and veinier, his eyes wilder swirls of churning darkness. Drying blood caked his upper lip, and his nose was badly swollen. His robe was more threadbare than it had looked from afar, and spotted with disturbing stains. The guy reeked like a sewer.

“How _dare_ you interfere with my work, you freak?” he shrieked.

If Xander had been less horror-stricken, he would have rolled his eye. Instead, he picked up the nearest object—Spike’s mug—and hurled it at the man’s head. Unfortunately, the loss of his eye and subsequent lack of depth perception had taken a toll on his aim. He’d learned to overcome it somewhat over the last few years, but now, awkwardly seated and overcome with anger and dismay, he threw badly, and the cup flew harmlessly past the wizard’s head, crashing to the floor in a small explosion of ceramic and blood.

The magician’s face cracked into a nasty sneer and he laughed. “That was very scary, Cyclops.” He stepped closer, his wand still pointing directly at Xander’s face.

Xander snatched his beer bottle and pitched it, too, but it didn’t come any closer to doing any harm. The binoculars only bounced harmlessly off the guy’s shoulder.

“I’m going to make you suffer before I kill you.” The man said a couple of words in a sibilant language Xander didn’t recognize, and then Xander howled as every bit of metal in his leg _wrenched_, twisting his leg and hip into impossible angles so hard that the cast cracked and partially fell away.

The agony was unimaginable. A hundred times worse than the original injury. Worse than anything he’d ever endured, even when Caleb pushed a thumb into his eye. But still, Xander and pain were old acquaintances, and Xander was well-versed in working through it, working past it, dealing with the oncoming enemy first before succumbing to the hurt.

So as the man took several steps closer, pointing his wand again, Xander grabbed the only remaining weapon in his arsenal: the pizza box, still half-full of pizza. He flung it at his attacker, and this time his aim was true, and the box hit the man square in the face, momentarily covering his eyes with cheese, sauce, and dough.

The man clawed at himself, trying to clear his vision, but then, in a feat of strength he didn’t know he had in him, Xander heaved himself out of the wheelchair and forward, crashing his heavy body against the magician’s smaller one. They fell together in a heap, and for just a second, the wizard lost his grip on the wand.

That second was all Xander needed. He snatched the piece of wood and, completely on instinct, did with it exactly what he had been doing with pointed sticks for over a decade: he thrust it deeply into his opponent’s chest, right into his heart.

If the magician had been a vampire, he would have poofed instantly into a pile of dust. But he wasn’t. So instead, he squealed and tried unsuccessfully to buck Xander off. A gout of dark blood bloomed on his robe and he yowled and _then_ he dematerialized in a flash of green smoke.

Xander was left coughing atop the empty robe, clinging to consciousness as fiercely as he could.

Maybe, just maybe he could drag himself down the stairs and outside, where perhaps a passerby might see him and...and what? Call 911, probably. And then Xander could calmly ask them to go check on the well-being of the vampire in the neighboring house. Yeah. That’d work out well.

But what else could he do? There was a chance Spike was still undead, and Xander couldn’t very well just lie here waiting to pass out.

He gritted his teeth and used his arms to pull himself forward, trying to ignore the screaming pain. The robe bunched up beneath him as he moved, and then he felt something hard. Something with a familiar shape. Desperately, he scrambled his hands through the fabric until he found a pocket. And there, in the pocket, was a cell phone. He gave silent thanks to the Nokia gods and, with salty sweat pouring into his eye, fumbled at the keypad.

_Ring. Ring. Ring._

Oh, please. Please wake up. Please pick up the phone.

_Ring. Ring. Ri—_

“What!?”

“Help,” he croaked.

“Who—Dear Lord, Xander, is that you?”

“God, please, Giles. Call Angel. Need him here now. Need—“

“What’s the matter? Are you hurt?”

“Please! Tell Angel…check the other house. Spike is—I don’t…please….” It was getting harder to speak. Hell, it was getting harder to just hold onto the phone. Everything was going gray and there was a whooshing noise in his ears.

“Quick, Giles. Ang…call…help….”

And that was all.

 

[Chapter Five](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/45629.html)


	5. Rear Window

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reworking of Hitchcock's Rear Window, for the [](http://community.livejournal.com/ultimate_xander/profile)[**ultimate_xander**](http://community.livejournal.com/ultimate_xander/)Movie Challenge. Post-Chosen and post-NFA. Xander's leg's broken and Spike plays nurse. But there's something fishy going on at the neighbor's place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fabulous poster by [](http://emilygoober.livejournal.com/profile)[**emilygoober**](http://emilygoober.livejournal.com/)

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[rear window](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/rear%20window), [spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/xander)  
  
---|---  
  
_**Rear Window, Chapter 5**_  
**Title:** Rear Window   
**Chapter:** 5 of 5   
**Pairing: **Spike/Xander   
**Rating: **R   
**Warnings:** m/m, language   
**Disclaimer:** I'm neither Joss Whedon nor Alfred Hitchcock.   
**Summary: **Reworking of Hitchcock's Rear Window, for the [](http://community.livejournal.com/ultimate_xander/profile)[**ultimate_xander**](http://community.livejournal.com/ultimate_xander/)Movie Challenge. Post-Chosen and post-NFA. Xander's leg's broken and Spike plays nurse. But there's something fishy going on at the neighbor's place.   
**Author's Note:** Fabulous poster by [](http://emilygoober.livejournal.com/profile)[**emilygoober**](http://emilygoober.livejournal.com/)  
It's just barely June 1 where I am, but I'm anxious to post and won't have time in the morning. I put up a poll, and the majority of voters preferred all 5 chapters at once. So here they are. Follow the links at the end of each chapter, or [click here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Rear+Window&filter=all) for all chapters. Feedback is extremely well appreciated!

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0001zbyy/)  
---  
  
**  
Chapter Five**

 

He’d seen this place before. Unadorned white walls, nice molding around the doors, small cracks in the ceiling. It was…oh. His bedroom. In San Francisco.

And he must have made a slight noise because suddenly a face popped into view. It was frowning, and framed by red hair. “Xan? Are you awake?”

Wait. Wasn’t she in Thailand? How did….

He started thrashing around.

“Hey! Hey! Knock that off, Mister!” She said something else he couldn’t understand and then he _couldn’t_ move, couldn’t move at all, and he panicked because this was magic, and magic was bad, magic was killing him and Spike…and Spike…oh, God….

“Listen to me, Xander! You’re hurting yourself. Calm down just a little and I’ll lift the spell, okay? Just calm down.”

He tried. Tried to catch his breath and clear his head and get a goddamn hold on himself. And after several minutes he did, and he sighed, and Willow said something else and he could move again.

She placed a hand on his chest, warning him. “You’re still healing. If you move around like that you’re gonna mess up your leg again and I am _not_ going to be in any mood to spend another two days trying to put you back together, you hear?” Her eyes were warm, but she had that look of grim determination in her face, the one that said she’d accept no arguments at all.

“Will?” he whispered.

“Uh-huh.”

“How—what—how?”

“I magicked your pieces back together. It wasn’t easy. Really, I should have healed you to begin with, but you were here and I was all the way there, and we all thought you’d manage to be okay for six weeks, but I guess we were wrong, so—“

“Will!”

“Sorry. What?”

“Spike. God, Spike.”

Her face went carefully blank. “Look, you should rest. We can talk later, and—“

“Willow! Where’s Spike?!”

She took a deep breath, and then said, very quietly, “He’s here. He’s in his room.”

“Not dust?” Which was a stupid question.

“No…not…not quite.”

“Not…Will, please!”

She looked very unhappy. “He’s hurt really bad, Xan. Healing spells don’t work very well on vampires. We’re doing what we can, though. Trying to get some blood into him.”

Xander felt dizzy, as if he was floating over the bed and spinning. Spike wasn’t gone but he was hurt and Willow was here and it didn’t make any sense, and—

“He’s asking for Xan—Oh. You’re awake.”

Xander blinked rapidly at the source of this new voice. “Dead—Deadboy?”

Angel came closer and barely even frowned. “Yeah.”

“I don’t understand….”

Willow stroked his face. “You called Giles. Do you remember that? And Giles called Angel, just like you told him to, because he was closest.” She looked up at the dark vampire. “He got here really quick, I think.”

Angel nodded. “Less than four hours.”

“And by then Giles was almost on a plane at Heathrow, and I was getting on one in Bangkok. But it took us so long to get here, and Angel did most of the work.”

“Spike?” Xander croaked.

“I came here first. Christ, you were a mess! But you weren’t dying. So I just put you in bed. Giles said to check the other house and I did, and I found…I found Spike.” He didn’t meet Xander’s eye when he said that. “He was…injured. There was a girl there, too, drugged and tied up and cut a little. I gave Spike some of my blood because I wasn’t sure he’d make it back here without, and I called the police to come do something about the girl. I brought Spike back here. And until Giles and Willow got here, I ran back and forth between you two, trying to keep Spike going and you from moving. I, uh, gave him some of your blood, too. He needed human.”

Xander tried to process all of this. Finally, he asked, “Where’s Giles?”

“Out,” said Willow. “Getting more supplies, and more blood for Spike. Goddess, Xander, what _happened_?”

Xander had never felt so exhausted in his life. “Please,” he said. “Can I see Spike? Please?”

Willow and Angel exchanged a glance.

“Xan, you should rest. You can—“

“Please!” He was almost crying now.

Another glance. “Xander shouldn’t be moved yet,” Willow said.

Angel nodded. “Okay. I can bring him in here.”

Willow smoothed her hand over Xander’s arm as Angel left the room. Angel reappeared only a moment later, carrying a figure swathed in a white sheet. Extremely gingerly, he set the figure down on the bed next to Xander.

Xander rolled his head to the side and looked.

And then he really wished he hadn’t.

Lying next to him was a charred corpse, its hair burnt away, its blackened lips pulled tightly back. Its eyes were covered by round, white bandages.

But the corpse’s chest was moving up and down, slowly, and then its arm twitched, and in a thin and scratchy voice, it slurred, “Xxxannn?”

Oh, Jesus Christ.

No.

But very tentatively, Xander reached out and touched a single fingertip to the scorched shoulder beside him. “Spike?” he wheezed.

The corpse—no, Spike!—twitched again. “You…hurt?”

He bit back hysterical laughter. Spike wanted to know if _he_ was hurt! “Just my stupid leg. I’ll be fine.”

“Good…. Girl?”

Xander looked at Angel. “She’s okay. She wasn’t badly injured.”

“Wizard?”

“He’s gone. Dead, I think. I staked him with his wand.”

Spike made a tiny, hoarse sound that Xander realized was a laugh. “Git.”

That made Xander relax just a little.

“Spike, is there anything I can do?” What he wanted to do was hold the vampire—_his_ vampire!—in his arms and make all the pain fade away. But of course neither of them was up to that.

“Stay…with me…please…. Talk.”

Angel and Willow looked at each other again, but Xander didn’t care. He asked for some water, and Willow brought him a cup. It tasted wonderful. He settled himself as comfortably as he could and took Spike’s dry, bony hand in his.

“Never thought you’d be asking me to talk, Spike.”

Spike choked out another small laugh. “Why not?...In pain…anyway.” And he squeezed Xander’s hand. Just a tiny bit, but it was a definite squeeze.

So Xander told them all what he had seen through the window, and then what had happened when the magician came over. At some point, Giles appeared, but he merely leaned against the wall and listened solemnly, even taking his glasses off once to polish them with a handkerchief. Meanwhile, Angel slowly, painstakingly, dripped some warmed blood into Spike’s throat.

When the story was over, and Spike moaned in pain, Xander spoke some more. This time, as the others looked on in shock, he told Spike how much he loved him, and all the things he wanted them to do together when they were healed. Well, all the g-rated things, anyway. He wasn’t ready to get that personal in front of this crowd.

Eventually, Spike’s breathing slowed more and then stopped, and, after a second of near-panic, Xander realized he was asleep.

He was a little anxious about Angel’s response to his words. Willow and Giles, not so much. If they didn’t like him caring for Spike, that was just too bad. But Angel and Spike had been rivals and then, lately, lovers.

Angel had listened gravely, his arms crossed on his chest and his great brow furrowed. When Spike was sleeping and Xander was quiet, though, he looked at Xander, and then he nodded, just twice.

 

It took longer than six weeks.

Within a week, Xander was back in the wheelchair. Spike was still nearly motionless and silent in bed, and Xander spent most of his waking hours just holding his hand, talking to him, reading to him from whatever books and magazines somebody plopped in his hand. The only painkiller that seemed to work for him was Xander’s voice.

Then Willow and Giles announced that they’d done all they could, and duty called for them abroad. Willow kissed and hugged him, and whispered something in Spike’s ear. Giles hugged Xander too, and patted his back.

Angel stayed. He was the new nurse.

He frowned a lot about it, and rolled his eyes, but he was actually pretty good at it, and surprisingly patient. He slept in Spike’s room now, and Xander shared his own bed with Spike, very cautious not to jostle the ravaged body beside him. Not that Xander could move around all that much anyway—Willow had put a new wrapping of some kind on his damaged hip and leg, and that chunk of him was immobilized.

Angel fed them. He helped Xander with the toilet—and that wasn’t completely humiliating in any way, no sir—and helped him bathe and dress. Spike was best with just bare skin. Although he didn’t complain, Xander could tell that even the pressure of the bedding under him was excruciating.

Two weeks in, the ache in Xander’s leg was gone and he was restless. But Willow called him daily and threatened to turn him into a frog if he tried to take the wrapping off his leg before she said he could. Spike seemed a little stronger, and his skin was looking a little less blackened. Xander wanted to ask the vampires if Spike’s eyes would recover, but wasn’t brave enough to face the answer. Spike still didn’t talk much—his throat had been scorched, too, and speaking hurt—but he’d hold Xander’s hand and breathe slowly and steadily and sometimes laugh at Xander’s lame attempts to joke.

Willow and Giles did some research, and concluded that the wizard had been about to commit human sacrifice—not his first, they suspected—as part of a spell to give himself more strength. Had he been successful, he might have eventually become as potent as Willow was when she nearly destroyed the world. But the incomplete magic made him vulnerable, too, so an attack with his own symbol of power—the wand—had utterly destroyed him. When Xander learned this he huddled carefully against Spike and cooed in his burnt ear words he would have had a hard time saying loudly: “We saved the planet again. My champion. My brave vampire. My love.” Spike slowly leaned his head against Xander’s and quietly rasped, “My brave human…. My love.”

 

Spike was asleep one evening and Xander and Angel were sitting silently in the kitchen, each wrapped in his own thoughts. Abruptly, Angel plunked his cup onto the table. “You really do love him, don’t you?”

Xander was startled, but he nodded. “Yeah. Really do.”

Angel frowned and looked down at the table. He pushed his finger around in a small splatter of red liquid that had gathered there. “How?”

“What do you mean?”

“You couldn’t stand him. When Buffy suggested sending him here, Giles was thinking one of you was gonna end up killing the other within days.”

“Yeah, I hated him once, I guess. I grew up.” He chuckled softly. “So did he.”

They were silent for a while. Angel absently licked the blood off his finger.

“Angel? Are you okay with this? I mean, not that I’m going to stop loving him if you’re not, but…I’m not trying to be cruel to you. I’m really not. I really…appreciate this.” He waved his hands around vaguely.

“He told you about…about us?”

“Yeah.”

Angel rubbed his face with both hands. “I’ve known him for 130 years. I can’t look at him without being reminded of the things he’s done. The things _I’ve_ done. But he’s…we’re….”

“You’re family. That’s what he said.”

Angel looked surprised and relieved. “Yeah. Family. Complicated.”

“You don’t have to tell me that, buddy. The Harrises put the dys in dysfunctional. And my other family—the one I chose—Willow and Buff and the rest—more Addams than Cosby, you know? But they’re mine.”

“I…I care about him, damnit. I don’t always want to, but I do.”

“I know.”

“But I could never love him like you do.” His voice was sad as he said this, and for the first time ever, Xander felt sorry for Angel. “I’m gonna warn you, though. When Spike falls for someone, he doesn’t play around. That was true even before the soul.”

“Good,” Xander nodded.

Angel got up and carried his cup to the sink.

“Angel?”

“What?” He didn’t turn around.

“Thanks.”

Angel nodded, and Xander looked at the broad, tense back for a while, before wheeling himself back to Spike’s side.

 

As soon as Xander could manage on his own, Angel returned to LA. He still called every few days, though, and as Spike’s voice strengthened, the vampires would bicker and banter over the phone, making Xander smile. Xander still limped a little—probably always would, when he was tired and worn out—but he didn’t mind. It sort of matched the missing eye. Maybe he should replace one of his hands with a hook while he was at it. Spike called him “gimp” with a sparkle in his eyes—his beautiful, demonically restored eyes—and pulled him close for fervent kisses.

In the end, it took over five months for Spike to fully recover. His scars—the slashes and puckers from the battle—resurfaced, though the rest of him returned to its formerly flawless state. Xander was tracing the marks now, with fingers and tongue, tasting his own sweat and spunk on the taut, cooling body. Spike’s fingers were carding through Xander’s tangled hair.

“Sorry, pet.”

Xander rolled his eye up to meet Spike’s. “Sorry for what? ‘Cause right now I’m thinking you might be feeling pretty smug.” He should be. Xander hadn’t come that hard since…since ever, actually.

Spike gestured at his scars. “Sorry these didn’t burn away.”

“I’m glad they didn’t. I like them.”

Spike cocked an eyebrow.

“I told you before. They remind me that you’re a hero. Besides, we sort of match.”

Spike snorted and palmed Xander’s left butt cheek. “Yeah, except nobody’s perforated my arse.”

“I could fix that,” Xander said, flashing his very best leer. “Well, if you give me, like, ten minutes. Only human here.”

Spike smirked back and moved his hand to Xander’s formerly sated but suddenly kind of interested cock. “I’ll give you five, love.”

“Mmm.” Xander sucked on Spike’s neck, which made the vampire writhe a little and moan.

“Interested in necks, are you?” Spike said.

“Guess I’d better be, if I’m gonna date a vamp.” Xander reached up and felt at the two tiny wounds on his own neck, right over the carotid. Just his own touch made him shiver, and his dick twitched in Spike’s grip.

“Pet?”

“Hmm?”

“D’you suppose the witch could find a way to stick a soul in a vamp for good?”

Xander thought for a moment. “Probably. We could ask her. You thinking maybe Angel deserves to get his happy, finally?”

“Yeah. And…and you.”

“I’m already happy.” Xander wiggled his hips a little to prove his point.

“No, I mean…. Someday—only if you want it, mind you—I could turn you. Someday.” His eyes glittered. “Because, love, you can only escape death so many times. And I don’t want to lose you.”

Spike tensed a little, as if he expected Xander to be upset. But Xander wasn’t completely stupid, and he’d sort of seen this coming. So all he said was, “Okay.”

Spike blinked at him. “Really?”

“Really. Not now. But someday. I want to stay with you a long time, Spike.”

Spike smiled broadly, and then drew Xander’s head close for a long, ardent kiss. Xander finally had to break away to catch his breath.

“Pet?”

“Yeah, Spike?”

“You plan to go back to gathering potentials?”

“I could. Or I could take a break. They can find someone else to do the job just as well.”

“Could go to LA. Fight monsters with His Wankerness.”

“Could be fun. Or we could stay here a while. We haven’t really seen much of the city, have we?”

“I expect there’s more evil to be found here, too.”

“Yeah. And really great Chinese food.”

“Or we could—“

“Spike.”

“Yeah?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He stopped any more discussion with a kiss so intense it made him dizzy.

Then Spike wrapped his arms around Xander and pulled at him until Xander was on top of him, their pelvises nestled nicely together. And that was exactly the place Xander wanted to be.

 

 

~~~fin~~~

 

 


End file.
